


Star Wars: The Unending Cycle of History - Part I: Conflict Restored

by Vaelatorr



Series: Star Wars: The Unending Cycle of History [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alien Character(s), Bar Room Brawl, Child Neglect, Conspiracy, F/F, F/M, Far Future, Gen, Jedi, Multi, Mystery, New (Original) Sith Empire, Original Character(s), Sith, Spies & Secret Agents, Suggestive Themes, The Galactic Republic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10225661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaelatorr/pseuds/Vaelatorr
Summary: Nearly a thousand years after the death of the Sith Emperor Palpatine, the galaxy has once again reverted to its old ways. Crime, war, and poverty continue to envelop the lives of the citizens of The Republic, the new Supreme Empire, and everywhere in between. As it has after so many challenges before, the Jedi Order has reformed to protect the innocent people of the galaxy. However, where there is light, a shadow must mirror it; the Sith have returned as well. Now, beings from every corner of the galaxy are about to enter into a conflict that could decide the future of the galaxy. Good and evil will finally clash again, but only time will reveal the victor…A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at a writing fan fiction, so I'm not sure if it will be all that good. As is stated above, this story takes place long after the Prequel Trilogy, and features entirely original characters. It does feature references to canon/Legends content. This is just my idea of one possible distant future. I sincerely apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors, or if this story just isn't all that good. If people seem to like it, I will turn this into a series. All criticism is welcome, and highly appreciated. Thanks for reading!





	1. I

He sat as silent and as still space itself, his annoyance with his surroundings growing steadily. He never cared for the deafeningly loud and blindingly bright streets of Nar Shaddaa. In his mind, nothing here was as it appeared. The lights, the music, the people: all just facades hiding what? This, he did not know. He had always appreciated those who were unashamed of their true nature, and this place represented the precise inverse of that.

His fondness for the honesty of other however, frequently came into direct conflict with most other aspects of his life. Since he was merely a child, Beryllius Aeradeus had been trained to be deceptive, cunning, and most importantly of all, strong. For him and others of his ilk, weakness was intolerable, and in all eyes save for those of the law, treasonous. It was for these reasons, honesty was a luxury in which he was rarely able to indulge. Yet, this was the life he was born into, so he could do little to change it. Beryllius accepted his life for what it was.

He took a sip of the pungent beverage in his cup. It took all of his strength not to cringe at the drink’s violently bitter taste. His focus had been elsewhere when the serving droid had brought it to him, and as such, he hadn’t heard this particular cocktail’s name. He now wished he had, for he certainly did not want to make the same mistake a second time. The thought had come to him more than once that this foul taste may be the result of some unknown toxin, but he brushed these thoughts to the side; he trusted his senses.

The three men across the cantina from where Beryllius had sat for what felt like an eternity finally began to rise from their seats. He released an exhale that silently betrayed this evening’s test of his patience. Under normal circumstances, he would not have used such clandestine techniques as he did on this night, but these were not ordinary circumstances. Much to his chagrin, Beryllius was not to simply eliminate these men; he was to capture one of them. Specifically, he needed the man in the grey suit. The man who seemed to be far more intoxicated than his noticeably larger and more fit compatriots. The man who had been declared to be a threat.

Beryllius removed a few credits from his pocket, and without a word to anyone, slowly rose from his seat, set them on the table, and silently followed the men. His mind instinctually began to form a plan. “Wait until they get near the edge of a railing,” he thought to himself. “Push the brute on the left to his death, and eviscerate his partner on the right. The Colonel shan’t be in any state to put up a fight. Seventeen seconds. Max.” He silently cursed at how quick this would be for the amount of time he had wasted waiting for these buffoons to leave the cantina. Alas, not all fights were meant to be challenges.

The unknowing soon-to-be-dead bodyguards and the individual they had been tasked with protecting hadn’t noticed their silent pursuer. This was only one of Beryllius’ many diverse talents. When he wanted to be, he could be charming, charismatic, and even quite funny. When that failed however, he could transform into a ruthless killing machine in the blink of an eye.

His targets rounded the corner around the side of the monolithic building they had been strolling parallel too. This was his chance. Without as much as a single sound or even a slight elevation of his heart rate, Beryllius pounced. Before the unfortunate guard on the left even had a moment to regard his assailant, he found himself being flung from the walkway with greater force than the right hook of a sleep-deprived wampa. He hit the ground, countless kilometers below; dead on impact.

Before the guardsman nearest the building had time to even process his comrades passing, let alone draw his blaster, he found himself with his back against the wall. The blade that had been deposited into his abdomen ensured he wouldn’t be moving from this position any time soon. With a barely audible screech of pain, he fell to the ground, dying quicker than his partner before him.

Now with no other obstacles in his way, Beryllius was able to turn his attention to the smaller human in the center. It had taken the Colonel’s alcohol altered perception until now to realize what had happened; and it hit him like a cruiser colliding with a starfighter. His enemy shoved him to the ground and placed the blade against his neck. Only now was the Colonel able to look upon the face of his attacker. Had he paced himself a bit earlier that night, he may have recognized the cloaked figure who sat in the corner of the very cantina where he had just spent far more than a man of his rank would ever admit on ale and lap dances. His foe’s eyes pierced his very being with the malice they held. They were only matched in intensity of both hate and hue by the crimson blade mere inches from his neck.

He tried to speak, but was quickly cut off by the invisible noose tightening around his neck.

“No need to beg, Colonel Vergheer,” Beryllius said calmly,” Your fate was sealed the moment that holodisc left your pathetic hands. Now, I shall offer you a choice: give me the information I seek, or I shall extract it from you by force.” The menacing Mirialan kneeled down and whispered in the aging soldier’s ear, “And between you and me Colonel, I would much prefer the latter.” He chuckled as he placed his boot on Colonel Vergheer’s chest. He withdrew his weapon, and placed it back in its place on his sash. He eased the pressure he had put on the man’s neck just enough to allow his captive to speak.

“P-please, allow me to explain m-my lord,” Vergheer sputtered, his words heavily slurred from the potent mix of fear and alcohol that had claimed hold of his mind.

“Speak,” Beryllius said, flatly.

“I- m-my-“

Beryllius increased the pressure on his neck. “I’m sorry Colonel, I can’t hear you.” He kicked the elderly man in his ribs. “You’ll have to speak a bit louder. You may pretend that I am one of your former subordinates if it helps,” he taunted.

“I-“Vergheer swallowed in an attempt to speak clearly, “I did not plan this my lord. I was only following orders.”

“Yes, I’m aware of this,” Beryllius replied. “Such a shame that Vice Admiral Lintok made the…unfortunate decision to bite the hand that once fed him. No, I want to know who it was that the disc went too.” He had yet to change the tone of his voice. This made him even more frightening to the Colonel, though the soldier could not quite figure out why.

“A young woman; Delesva. She’s an SIS agent under cover on Mygeeto,” Vergheer replied quickly.

“I see. Colonel, you have my gratitude for this information,” he replied as he helped the traitor turned triple agent to his feet. He knew of this woman, but now he had confirmation of her actions. He reveled in the valuable information he possessed.

“The- then I’m free to go, my lord?” he asked hesitantly.

The younger man chuckled, “No, no I’m afraid not. No, you,” he struck the Colonel on the head with the pommel of his weapon, “You are coming with me.” With that, he once again returned his lightsaber to his belt, picked up the unconscious officer, and began the short walk back to the spaceport where his ship awaited him. He grinned as he thought, “Another successful mission for Lord Beryllius.” 

-

The darkness of the cave enveloped her. She had never seen such an abyss as this stone cavern. Not even the calming cyan glow of her blade aided her in seeing where she was going. This was precisely what her master had intended. This was not a test of vision, but a test of her ability to commune with the force to find her way to the light. As well, it was a test of endurance. The lack of life in this primordial dungeon chilled her to the bone. Never before had she felt so alone.

“There is no chaos, there is serenity,” she whispered t herself. This was the line of the Jedi Code with which Larana identified the most. It brought her back to her blissful youth in the countryside of Naboo. In those days, she knew nothing of war, death, or darkness. She knew only of the serenity she felt on her frequent walks into the thick forest that bordered her family’s land. She smiled at the memory.

She fed upon memories such as these in times of great stress. They served to empower her, and to give her the will to push forward. This was the life she wished for all beings. This was what she would give her life to defend.

Larana pushed forward for what seemed like hours, though was probably only a few minutes. Time seemed to nearly stand still in this sarcophagus. Finally, she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. With a heart filled to the bursting point with glee, she ran to it. As she emerged, she fell to her knees in joy. The afternoon sun caressed her skin as it welcomed her back to the land of the living.

“Very good, Larana,” her master praised, “At this rate, you’ll be a Master in no time. I’m very proud of you.”

The young human beamed with excitement at her masters’ words of praise. Polendi Bakkar was a calm, wise man whom Larana had looked up too like a father since they first met on Coruscant. The middle-aged Cathar been there to greet her when she first set foot in the majestic Jedi Temple. He introduced himself as her master, and the rest was history. She enjoyed their lessons, be it training with her lightsaber, or learning how to find harmony in the light side of the Force.

“It was difficult, Master,” she admitted, “But I focused on peaceful memories, and I was able to push through.”

“Excellent, my Padawan. But remember, memories of the past, while they can be a source of peace, they can also become addictive. You must learn to find peace within your present self, not just within memories of the past. For a Jedi, blissful memories can become like spice to an addict if we aren’t careful.”

“I understand, Master,” she replied. “I will work do my best to find peace in the present.” He was a very grounded a relatable individual. He didn’t care for the riddles that had become typical within Jedi teachings. He preferred to use analogies his pupils could easily understand. This, he thought, would be far quicker in preparing them to face the trials that lay ahead of them.

He smiled. “I know you will. In sixteen years, you haven’t disappointed me yet. Now, how about some lunch? I’m famished!” he chuckled.

“Sounds great, Master.”

With that, they returned to the small shelter that Master Bakkar called home.

-

“Three. Two. One,” she counted down quickly, her blaster aimed at the lowly enforcer’s head. He did not reply. Without a second thought, Sari’ala put a blaster bolt directly into his skull. The weequay’s lifeless body fell to the floor with an audible thud. His silence had bought him the same fate that talking would have, minus a few extra days of life. 

His life was of no consequence in the eyes of Sari’ala Biv’ecre. Born into slavery on Ryloth, there existed a multitude of otherwise mundane pleasures that had evaded her throughout her childhood. Kindness, a proper meal, the acquaintance of her parents: these were all foreign concepts to the young girl that would become one of the most ruthless bounty hunters in the outer rim. In her years of adventuring, she had become vaguely acquainted with the Jedi and Sith Codes alike. They were but mystical rambling in her mind. Sari’ala had her own code: There is no loyalty, there is money. With money, I stay fed, and I stay free.

She turned to the half dozen or so other weaklings she had line up against the wall. “Who’s next?” she half asked, half shouted. There was no response.

“You then. She picked a far weaker looking human and threw him to the ground. With her blaster ready to claim another life, she asked the question again. “Where. Is. Mehllev?”

“I don’t know no Mehllev,” the helpless man replied, all of his willpower being devoted to not breaking down and begging for his life. “I swear!”

She shot him in his left arm. He screamed in agony. “I don’t believe you,” she said, menacingly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya’s where he is!”

At that moment, the enraged Gammorean at the end of the line charged at Sari’ala. She knew he would. She had been in this profession far too long not to spot ill-advised heroes as soon as she saw them. Without taking her eyes off her quivering victim, she pointed her blaster at the unfortunate guardsman, and placed a shot directly in his right eye. He fell to the ground without a sound. A palpable silence filled the room. She was more than happy to be the one to break it. “Talk!” she shouted as she pressed down on the human’s hand with her boot, breaking it in the process.

He screamed in agony. “Nal Hutta! He’s on Nal Hutta in some cantina!”

She released her boot and removed a thermal detonator from her belt. Placing it in his broken hand, she smirked as she said, “Hold this for me.” She armed it, turned the blaster to her other captives as if to say, “don’t even think about it,” and ran out of the building. 

No sooner had she escaped, then a loud explosion sounded from inside the spice den. “Heh,” she thought, “Bundo’s gonna be madder than an akk dog in a crate when he hears about this. How many of his bumbling goons did I kill today? Was it nine? No, ten. Unless you count the more violent spice heads. Then I think it’s more like twenty.” She grinned as she stole a fruit and a drink from a stunned street side vendor (with no opposition form the merchant). She casually strolled back to her ship. 

“Nal Hutta, huh?” she cracked her knuckles and started the engines. “Guess I’m moving up even higher on the Hutts’ hit list.” At this, she smiled and laughed to herself. She knew they couldn’t kill her. She was far too skilled, and far too valuable. Oh, how nice it was to be a freelance outlaw.

-

It wasn’t a glorious job. It wasn’t a well-paying job. It wasn’t even a fun job. Danger, long hours, and the occasional slap across the face; these were what the job entailed. On a good day, he wouldn’t have to use violence. On a bad day, he would return to his meager abode with more wounds than credits in his pocket. Thus far, this day looked as though it just may be the former.

As he did every day for as long as he could remember, Ruugo stood next to the cantina’s exit. He half-heartedly watched the dancers perform their acts. In his younger days, Ruugo thought this was something he would never get bored with. But alas, even the most strung out spicer will build up a tolerance given the time; and Ruugo had the time. For twenty-four years now, he had spent every day standing next to the same door, in the same cantina, in the same city, on the same planet.

His eyes lazily scanned the room. His lack of decent sleep on most nights was evident; the numerous bags under his eyes gave away this unhidden secret. He spotted two drunken regulars playing what he imagined must be nearly their hundredth game of pazak. For a moment, he pitied them for their lack of anything to do with their lives. Then, he realized that the only reason he was as familiar with the pair as he was, was because he spent every day here too. 

Ruugo however, was not here to drink, nor plays cards, nor ogle the barely clothed entertainers; he was here to work. He continued to scan the room, looking for any evidence that a fight was soon to break out, or that a patron whose self-control was lacking had decided to make unwanted advances to the gyrating beauties. Should he find these, or any other event that would otherwise make the Sour Snarler Cantina anything less than the most pleasant place in town to forget your troubles, it was his job to…remove the problem.

His task could take many forms. Sometimes, a simple polite request for the offender to depart was all it took. Other times, less subtle encouragement was required. He’d been stabbed, shot, cut, punched, slapped, and spat upon more times than he cared to count, or even could for that matter.

Ruugo Talevenn was born into a poor, crime ridden family. He had originally taken this nightmarish job to earn enough money so that his family could eat. His father squandered nearly all of his earnings on his favorite pastime: spice. His mother, when she was around, spent most of her time arguing with his father. This left Ruugo to fend for himself, and for his younger brother and sister. 

Pirik, the middle child of the brood, had earned his way off of the dreadful cesspool that was Nal Hutta. Much to his brother’s chagrin though, he had done this by becoming a slaver for the Zygerrians. It had been nearly twenty years since they last spoke. 

As for his sister Julla…suffice it to say that she was the reason that Ruugo, a surprisingly healthy individual despite his environment, had so much experience with the horrors of womprat fever. Ruugo alone remained. 

He scanned the room again. Just as he did, he saw the first punch of what was sure to be a bloody brawl without his intervention. He sighed and walked over to the offending guests. “So much for my good day,” he thought. Oh, how he abhorred violence.

-

The miniscule corvette dropped out of hyperspace above a world which was surely the ugliest she had ever seen. From low orbit, it appeared to be a shade of yellow that Larana was sure her life would have been more than complete had she never laid eyes on it. For just a moment, she was sure she could smell the pollution that she was sure radiated from the planet’s surface. She already didn’t want to be here.

“Master, where are we?” she asked.

“Nal Hutta. This is the planet from my vision,” her master responded, “I can’t figure out why, but the force compelled me to come here.”

“What are we looking for?” she enquired.

“That I do not know, young one. I only know that we will know it when we see it.”

As if by a master plane, just as Master Bakkar finished his thought, Larana sensed what she could only describe as pure, unadulterated darkness fall over her. She looked to her master. From the look in his eyes, she gathered that he had sensed it too.

“Master,” she asked nervously, “What was that?”

His reply came as a single word, uttered with more disgust than she thought him capable of feeling. “Sith.”

-

Beryllius grimaced as he saw the mass of pollution and corruption appear in his viewport. As the sixth ship in line for clearance to land on a planet where his status as an agent of the Empire (or a Sith for that matter), meant precisely as much poetry would to a rock. He stretched in his seat, preparing for what was surely to be the low point of his week. If there was a single place in the galaxy that could more easily irk Beryllius than Nar Shaddaa, the planet that the so called “Smuggler’s Moon” orbited, Nal Hutta, was surely it. 

He had brought the Colonel back to Taris for further interrogation. What became of him after was a mystery to Beryllius. Taris, the capitol of the Supreme Empire, had seen far more than its fair share of strife. It had been decimated by the Sith of old, fought over by countless incarnations of the Republic and their enemies, and conquered by invaders from far and wide. Two hundred and some years ago, the planet had been reclaimed by the fledgling Reformed Sith Order as their home. Though construction was still the motif of the seat of Imperial might, it was in far better shape than it had been in nearly five thousand years. The descendants of Taris’ destroyers would go on to rebuild their one time trophy of death. This pleased Beryllius; the cycle was complete.

The Colonel had been persuaded to confess the location Delesva. As fate would have it, his captor was already familiar with the rotting world. He anxiously awaited his turn to land. Unfortunately for the young Lord, his threats would do little to advance his position in this system. 

As he looked out of his viewport, he observed the multitude of ships that had beaten him here. They varied in size, shape, and markings, but one caught his eye in particular. This vessel bore marks not of any crime syndicate, but of the Republic. He worried that they may be here to find the same person as him, albeit for vastly different purposes. He made sure to watch this ship carefully.

-

“Why couldn’t it have been the damn moon?” Sari’ala said to herself. “At least I could have a little fun there.” This mission however, was certainly not for fun; this she knew well. The price on Mehllev’s head was far more than she was in any position to refuse. As she queued up to enter the planet’s putrid atmosphere, she took notice of two ships ahead of her. They wore the liveries of the two greatest powers in the galaxy. “Ah, so it’s gonna be a fight, huh? Perfect.” 

Her final thought contained equal parts seriousness and sarcasm. On one hand, Sari’ala always preferred to do things the easy way. With as chaotic as the life she led was, she made sure to take advantage of as many opportunities to relax as she could. On the other hand, Republic versus Empire violence often resulted in opportunities to make very, very large sums of money, and that suited the Twi’lek just fine. In the end, she decided this encounter would likely work out in her favor.

-

With the conflicts of the afternoon settled, Ruugo returned to his position at the door. He scanned the room again, and as it had been before, it was largely peaceful. There was one peculiarity that caught his eye though: cloaks. He counted three patrons, one female and two males, clad in cloaks clearly designed to conceal anything the wearer had in their possession that they may not wish to be public knowledge.

Was it some sort of holiday? No, the establishment would be far louder. A religious movement? It couldn’t be; one male wore a black cloak, while the other two were covered in much more humble brown one. A racial tradition perhaps? Impossible. They were all different species.

Just then, a particularly fearsome, (and noticeably fully clothed) Twi’lek entered the Sour Snarler. She unashamedly carried a blaster on her belt for the whole galaxy to see. She looked around the room until her eyes fell upon a Rodian male and a human female sharing a table and chatting. The Twi’lek ordered a drink, and leaned against a wall as she continued to observe the pair. 

Believing it to be nothing, Ruugo returned his gaze the cloaked customers. It was at this point that he realized that they also had their eyes fixed on this same couple. He looked back to the latter, and noticed that the human was in the process of handing a holodisc to her companion. At that moment, the other patrons who had peaked Ruugo’s interest subtly shifted their positions. 

Things were about to get interesting.


	2. II

Preparation, or improvisation? This was the internal debate Sari’ala had with herself seemingly every day. Observe and learn, or go in guns blazing so to speak? She supposed that it all depended on the situation. How did she determine which was the better course of action? Well…she couldn’t quite say; her gut, perhaps.

She was thankful that she had chosen the former path today. Having earlier noted certain enemies she may end up facing during the day’s task, she had made sure to pack light. To the untrained underworlder, heavy blasters and even heavier armor seemed like the obvious choice. Sari’ala however, knew the truth was quite the opposite. 

Blasters, regardless of their firepower, could be expertly deflected by any Jedi or Sith worth their weight in bantha droppings. As well, while heavy armor could deflect a powerful blow, there was little that most armor available to the average criminal could do to stop a lightsaber’s impressive ability to relieve its victim of their extremities. Thus, she relied on her agility and intellect to protect her. Her trusty Balmorran-made sidearm, some light durasteel plate armor, and maybe a thermal detonator or two were all she needed.

So, when her force-wielding competitors began to stir, she had no catching up to do. The four of them, joined by the oversized middle-aged oaf of a human male guarding the door all slowly began to converge on their target table. Of course, anyone with the guts to brave the Hutts’ horrific adopted homeworld - let alone enter a cantina on it - knew to always look over their shoulder for movement towards them. The pair seated at this table were no exception to this rule.

On the contrary, the human and the Rodian had both been trained by one of the galaxy’s most respected organizations: the Strategic Information Service of the Republic, or SIS for short. Trained in the arts of combat, infiltration, and manipulation, the pair were well aware of the intentions of their observers. As such, they wordlessly began to act as though their meeting were for a very different purpose. The woman rose from her seat, and proceeded to violently splash the remainder of her beverage on the still seated man’s face.

“[Oh come on baby, what did I do to deserve that?]” the Rodian slurred in his native language. He made sure to give off the impression that he was just intoxicated enough to forget his manners, but not nearly past the point of being able to put up a good fight.

“Bantha shit!” she yelled in response. “You’re just looking for a quick feel. You think I haven’t met space scum like you in the before? Think again!” Delesva feigned an attempt to walk away from the situation, but she soon found herself being restrained. Mehllev had forcefully grabbed her arm and spun her around in an attempt to look her in the eye.

“[Now you look here missy, I ain’t your-]” he was cut off by the sharp sting of her palm across his face. Nobody was watching the dancers anymore. Now, this sordid scene had become the focus of everyone in the cantina. Well, everyone except for the Mon Calamari drooling all over the table he had passed out on hours ago.

The duo’s observers hesitated. Larana, in her haste to defend the innocent, nearly jumped in to prevent any further violence. Her master held her back, suspecting that things were not as they seemed. Sari’ala cared little for the fates of either of these two sorry souls. All she was interested in getting him back to her ship. Alive. Her employers would accept his lifeless cadaver, but the reward would be substantially less. Far less than she would have accepted for this task otherwise. Beryllius was wholly unconvinced of the spies’ sincerity. He only hesitated to take action out of interest in the motives of his Jedi counterparts. Perhaps their reaction would shed some light on the situation.

Ruugo however, did not hesitate to intervene. “Alright, I think you’ve both had more than enough. I’m gonna have to ask you two to leave. Separately.”

“Fine,” Delesva replied sharply, “I was tired of this dump anyway.” Their plan had worked out perfectly. By drawing attention to themselves, they had successfully deterred any intervention from their pursuers. Mehllev collected himself, and began to half stumble out of the establishment, muttering a wide variety of his mother tongue’s most severe curses under his breath. Sari’ala decided that the time to make her move was now. She hurriedly blocked the exit and drew her blaster on Mehllev.

“…and just where do you think you’re going, bud?” she asked smugly.

“[Kriff off]” he angrily replied. That was all the encouragement the surly bounty hunter needed. She pointed her pistol downwards and shot him in the shin. Mehllev yelped and doubled over in pain. Ruugo closed his eyes and swore to himself; now, it was a party.

This second of violence was all it took for utter mayhem to break out in the bar. All at once, the rowdy patrons began throwing punches, drawing weapons, and making vastly exaggerated threats. The force-users however, paid little attention to this.

Beryllius drew his lightsaber, and sprang into action, charging in the direction of the injured man. Taking this as their queue, the Jedi drew their weapons, and leapt into the fray in an attempt to defend the feeble Rodian. Sari’ala would not tolerate losing her bounty. She drew her blaster and began firing in every direction, trying to give herself enough cover to exit while dragging her prey along with her.

Ruugo was now far too busy breaking up fight after fight to bother attempting to help the drunk buffoon. He knew he would ache from this come the next morning. “Besides,” he thought, “The Jedi will handle that. I’ve got customers to worry about.”  
-

Disregarding the Jedi’s peaceful nature, Larana opted to forgo any attempt to reason with these evildoers. With the aid of a force-augmented leap, she landed directly between the young Lord and his target. Without thinking, she wildly swung at him.

Though merely three years her senior, Beryllius was considerably more adept in the realm of lightsaber combat. He had, after all, been training since he was able to walk on his own. He deftly deflected her foolish blow, and countered with his own more calculated lower leg slash. To his surprise, the Padawan effortlessly leapt above his blade whilst bringing her own down with the intent on disarming her aggressor, both literally and figuratively.

Unfortunately for the zealot of the light, her opponent was able dodge her latest strike with little difficulty. All at once, the Mirialan spun around and slashed at her with the sincere attempt to kill. Larana was able to block the Sith’s attack at the last moment, and their lightsabers collided. They stared into each other’s eyes as their weapons crackled and snapped as they fed off the raw power of their wielders. 

The pair exchanged no words, but communication had certainly taken place. Though neither of them could quite figure out what had just transpired, they both knew that this skirmish would be of no consequence. They sensed the force would bring them together again, though for what purpose and with what outcome, they knew not.

Coming to this realization, Beryllius took the opportunity that was Larana’s similar confusion by this situation to end the stalemate. Nimbly, he withdrew his weapon, and vaulted above and behind the Jedi. Not expecting him to relent, she momentarily retained her defensive stance with all the strength she could muster behind it. Hence, with no enemy to resist her selfless advance, she fell forward, coming into contact with the ground faster than her mind could process at the time. Her dark attacker was gone.

-

Meanwhile, Master Bakkar, knowing he could do little to hold his student back, switched his focus to the rogue woman who had taken the distressed man hostage. She was attempting to flee with the latter in tow; Bakkar could not allow this.

With unnatural speed, the Cather sprinted to the exit. Sari’ala had expected this, and had her blaster trained on him before he was able to close half the distance separating them. She fired repeatedly, but to no avail. The Jedi Master effortlessly deflected her wild series of shots without breaking his stride once. The Twi’lek was not phased. She hadn’t expected to hit him, only to offer a minor distraction as she used her free hand to reach for the thermal detonator attached to the back of her belt.

Without warming, she armed the explosive, and tossed it into the crowd. Knowing many innocents would lose their lives to the blast, Master Bakkar finally broke his stride. With the unseen reach of the force, he picked up the bomb, and threw the device out the door. He heard screams of terror as it exploded in front of the Sour Snarler, but he sensed no one had been injured in the blast. He turned his focus back to his original target.

Shocked by his counter to her explosive proposition, Sari’ala decided to forget about her prepared plan. “Time for plan besh:” she muttered to herself, “Improvise.” She ran and slid across the smooth - albeit likely filth covered - floor of the cantina, her right leg extended to its maximum distance from her torso. She made contact with the surprised knight, whose mind still considered those outside the cantina whom had put in needless danger not three seconds before. He fall to the ground, releasing his grip on his emerald blade.

Sari’ala used his momentary incapacitation as an opportunity to grab her bounty and flee. But when she turned to address the condemned man, he was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, neither was the woman he came in with. “Shit!” she yelled to no one in particular. It soon occurred to her, that she did have a Jedi pursuing her now, and though she possessed numerous talents, resistance to the force was not one of them. She decided to flee to her ship to regroup.

-

Ruugo was vaguely aware that the man who had just minutes before acted quite rudely to his female counterpart was now fleeing with the same woman, limping as he attempted to keep up with her. In any other circumstance, he may have felt compelled to look into the matter further, but at the moment, he was far too busy deflecting a very drunk Weequay’s wild blows to care. He heard lightsabers clash, and figured neither the Sith or the Jedi would be a problem. As they always did, they seemed to even each other out.

-

Seeing that his target had evaded him, Beryllius contacted N9-K4, his personal skiff’s protocol droid. Not bothering to greet the machine with whom he had become fairly well acquainted in the four months he had commanded the skiff, he ordered, “En-Nine, ready the ship for take-off; I’ll be there in three minutes.”

“Yes, my lord.” The droid replied calmly. Beryllius severed the connection. He scanned the room one final time to be sure his target had not hidden. Satisfied that Mehllev was nowhere to be found, the Sith Lord stealthily exited the room, and made his way back to his ship.

-

She lay on her back, although whether this was from physical pain or shock, she did not know. Her master stood above her, wearing a warm, if not ever so slightly amused smile. He extended a hand to his pupil. “Need some help?”

She nodded and took his hand. Once on her feet, Larana looked to her master and apologized for her rash behavior. He did not chastise her, instead using the results of the battle to teach her a lesson in thinking before acting.

-

Throughout the ordeal, one individual went largely unnoticed. The Observer neither attempted to fight, nor to avoid the fray. The Observer said nothing throughout the ordeal. Instead, the Observer internally celebrated. Everything was going exactly according to plan, and nobody suspected a thing. 

As the battle died down, the Observer regarded the scene. Many were injured, but there were no fatalities. In all ways but one, it was just another average bar brawl. Only a few in the room had seen the holodisc, but the Observer alone knew what it contained. Casually, the Observer, along with several other guests, calmly left the bar. Everything was going exactly according to plan, and nobody suspected a thing.


	3. III

She slammed her fist on the ships command console. By now, she was sure she had completed the motion enough times to break her hand, but she didn’t care. Her face was red with rage. At that moment, she could have killed her own best friend like it was nothing. If she had one, that was. Yes, there was no doubt about it: Sari’ala Biv’ecre was mad.

“Kriff!” she yelled at the void of space. Faced with no other options, she had left Nal Hutta to make the short journey to the planet’s famous moon. She would be getting drunk tonight. Scratch that, very drunk.

Never before had the bounty hunter lost a target. Never before had she failed to deliver. “Those damn Jedi,” she spat, “That damn Sith. And that stupid kriffing bouncer. Had that lumbering idiot waited just one- one more second, it’d payday for Sari!” It wasn’t a name she permitted anyone to call her, but for some unknown reason, her own use of it comforted her.

She sat down and released a long sigh. She entered the planet’s atmosphere at speeds far exceeding the limit. Not that anyone would care though; this was Nar Shaddaa after all. Around here, law was spelled c-r-e-d-i-t-s.

As the tattered vessel she called home came to a rough halt on one of the spaceports many landing pads, she began to think about her fate. Her employers were powerful people. She doubted they would take her failure in stride.

She made her way to one of the many back alley dives she was known to frequent. She received a few nods from fellow regulars. She also received several obscene calls from some of the more inebriated men in the cantina. Her response came in the simple form of a menacing glance, and a finger pointing to her blaster. They grudgingly ceased their advances.

Sari’ala sat down at the bar, and beckoned the serving droid. “Two Andoan ales, and a shot your strongest Huttese tequila; I don’t want to remember this day when I wake up tomorrow.”

“Right away,” her host responded, emotionlessly.

She looked at the other customers seated near her. She spotted a scrawny human, clearly far too young to patronize this establishment. She chuckled to herself as she imagined the little punk regurgitating countless credits worth of cheap liquor in some public washroom within the hour. Two women - a Twi’lek and a Chiss - chatted over cocktails that probably had half of the items the bar stocked in them. She silently thanked the gods that she had never been a “girly” girl. On her other side, a clearly distraught Nautolan man was nursing an ale. She assumed he had been dumped, and quite recently at that. 

Then, she looked to end of the bar and, to her surprise, found a pair of eyes looking directly into hers. For a brief moment, she froze. When her senses returned, she regarded the owner of the mesmerizing ocular organs. Rage instantly built up in her as she noticed this person was a Mirialan. She had nothing against them, or any other species for that matter, but sighting this onlooker instantly brought back memories of that little pest of a Sith she had come into conflict with only a few hours prior. He, along with the goody-goody-two-boots Jedi and that barely sentient bouncer were the source of her current distress. She yearned for revenge; she yearned for blood.

However, Sari’ala quickly snapped out of this flare of rage when the true form of the being viewing her hit her; she was gorgeous. From her silk smooth skin that perfectly matched her jade colored eyes, to her flawless figure, to the sultry smile she proudly wore. Before Sari’ala had time to realize she was staring, the other woman stood up and strolled over to her. The woman’s stride only served to make taking her eyes off this radiant beauty an even more insurmountable task for the bounty hunter.

“Hi, I’m Ziima,” the woman seductively introduced herself as she took the seat immediately to Sari’ala’s left.

“H-hi…” was all the dazed Twi’lek could muster.

Ziima chuckled, “Well? You got a name?”

“Uh…it’s…uh,” Sari’ala had forgotten her name. The other woman’s second giggle of the evening snapped her out of her stunned stupor. “Sari’ala!” she said a bit too loudly. “Sorry, I uh…I…”

“…wanna buy me a drink?” Ziima finished.

“Uh- yeah, that,” Sari’ala stuttered. Stars, this woman was intoxicating.

“Well Sari’ala, the tongue-tied terror,” she responded, “How about I buy you a drink instead? You look like you could use some cheering up.” Her voice seemed to drop an octave or two on those last words.

“S-sure. Thanks,” was all she could muster.

Once again, her conversational foil let out a sweet giggle. Sari’ala’s stomachs flipped several times. Perhaps this day wouldn’t be all bad after all.

-

Darth Sereniel was a cold, uncaring, selfish woman, and her apprentice knew this all too well. The Empire, her pupils, her colleagues: they were little more than microbes compared to her. Or at least, that was how Beryllius imagined she felt. She would not take his failure to retrieve the holodisc lightly. Violence against him would be too much of a hassle, hence his lack of fear. Beryllius’s agitation in having to report his lack of success to his mistress was rooted in a far simpler fact: he despised talking to her.

Everything about her was the exact opposite of him. She had no charisma, no sense of humor, and he was fairly sure that she was actually incapable of honesty, even when it was in her own interest. Thus, he groaned as N9-4K informed him she was awaiting his report.

Slowly, he leaned forward and hit the transmit button on the ship’s control console. The image of his mistress appeared and, as always, she did not look happy.

“Beryllius,” the holoimage greeted him curtly, “Where you successful?”

He sighed, “No, my lady. As it turns out, I was not the only party searching for the holodisc.” He proceeded to regale her with the tale of the events of the past few days. She remained so still and emotionless that he began to wonder if she had paused the visual being transmitted and left to go do something else as he spoke. Who knows, she may have even fallen asleep. Standing…with her eyes open. Beryllius wouldn’t discount the possibility. “I apologize for my failure, mistress. I have already begun to track the spy and her contact. I’m en route to intercept them as we speak.”

“I see,” she replied flatly. At least she’d been listening…maybe. “Do not fail me again, Apprentice.”

With that, the transmission ended. He wondered how someone with so little emotion could be Sith. Was she weak? He pushed the thought to the side as he was in no position to stage a power grab; not yet, at least.

Though he was as honest as he could be with her, he did withhold one key detail, although to be fair, she didn’t ask. That detail, was where he was headed. As he sat contemplating his next course of action, his ship was hurling towards the InterGalactic Banking Clan operated world of Mygeeto. He could scarcely believe the gall of those who he pursued.

Delesva had originally become known to him several months ago when she was revealed as a Republic spy. She had been working undercover in one of the Empire’s listening stations on Mygeeto. The cold world fell within the outer reaches of the Republic’s territory, and therefore served as an excellent position for the Empire to listen in on their message. 

Delesva, who was tasked with maintenance on the base’s data receivers, had been secretly relaying which messages the Empire had heard back to her SIS handler. The Imperial Department of Secret Actions (IDSA for short; the Imperial counterpart of the SIS), caught wind of this, and began feeding her false information. All in all, it was a typical espionage operation, and not something unfamiliar to Beryllius. Darth Sereniel was, of course, the chief Sith in charge of overseeing their actions.

It was a standard operation, until a new player emerged. Vice Admiral Harren Lintok, the commanding officer of the small naval task force tasked with protecting the Mygeeto Listening Post, had been named as a suspected aide to the spy. Beryllius had initially found this to be a preposterous claim. Lintok was an honorable officer and a fierce patriot with a spotless record. Why would he change he views so suddenly?

However, after conducting extensive research and surveillance, Beryllius had been able to confirm Lintok’s involvement. One of his chief advisors, Colonel Ryn Vergheer, had been informing his superior of the IDSA’s observations. As a response, Lintok would discard the department’s false information, and use the Colonel as a courier to send the real information to Delesva.

The Mirialan Lord was furious when he found out. So much so in fact, that he decided to personally relieve the Vice Admiral not only of his command, but of his head as well. It wasn’t a well thought out decision as Vergheer responded in kind by fleeing the Empire that very same day, but it was not a decision Beryllius regretted.

Now, this piece of SIS filth had the audacity to return to the very planet where her cover had been blown mere months ago. He would enjoy this kill. Still, a small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him she was a decoy. He put these thoughts aside. Should the worst case scenario come to pass, at least the Republic short one spy. Beryllius reclined in his seat and rested his eyes. Six hours still remained before he would enter Mygeeto’s orbit. Perhaps some sleep would do him good.

-

Ruugo walked down the alley that had become so familiar to him after all these years. His jaw ached from a swing he failed to block. He supposed his morbid career did have one positive: there was no stress to take home. After he left the Sour Snarler each night, he could put it out of his mind until the next morning. He did appreciate this fact, small though it was. He had learned to appreciate the little things.

Still, his mind kept returning to the melee a few hours ago. Something seemed off about it. Strange as it may sound, he had seen Jedi and Sith alike come into the cantina, lightsabers at the ready many times before. This was not knew to him. He’d seen fights, of course. Forty-eight hours without a fight in that place was quite the unusual occurrence. It wasn’t the holodisc either. Ruugo bore witness to shady deals and illegal exchanges every day. This was less notable to him than a fight.

No, the source of his confusion wasn’t something nearly this obvious. It had been the supposed couple. They had been getting along perfectly well until their pursuers entered the facility. Then, it all went bad, and fast. Too fast. Ruugo knew a drunk when he saw one, and that Rodian was a sober as an elderly monk exiled to some abandoned, force-forsaken world.

Ruugo had seen spies before, and he assumed that to be the true nature of these two. So why did he still feel like there was some deeper meaning to the day’s altercation? Why did it feel so wrong? Perhaps some sleep would cure him of his intellectual conundrum.

After a small meal and a cold shower, the aging bouncer slowly laid down on his bed. He closed his eyes, and attempted to clear his mind. Just as sleep was about to abscond with his consciousness, a loud explosion, followed by a series of blaster shots echoed through the ally. He heard speeders speeding down the streets, and inter-gang threats being yelled. Yet another skirmish between rival Hutts had ensued. Ruugo would sleep little, if at all tonight.

-

Larana hated leaving jobs unfinished. Ever since she was a child, she had felt compelled to finish a task before tackling another. In itself, this was not an uncommon trait. Many people preferred to complete a task rather than abandon it. Larana took it a step further. To her, leaving a job incomplete was like an itch she just couldn’t scratch. It made her jittery and uncomfortable. For this reason, she swore she would save the injured man no matter the cost.

After taking a moment to rest at a table, the bouncer had ushered her and her master, along with everyone else, out of the cantina; they left peacefully. As the two Jedi walked toward the elder knight’s personal starship, his student turned to him with an inquisitive look in her eye.

“Master, why do you suppose the Sith relented?” she asked.

“If only I knew,” he sighed. “I fail to this day to see what motivates an individual such as that man. He has such potential. He could serve the people of the galaxy, or heal the sick and wounded. Instead, he only tortures and kills.” He turned back to his padawan, “I’m sorry Larana, but I truly have no insight or advice to give you. I suppose the dark side of the force just manifests itself in some, sinks in its claws…and doesn’t let go…”

Ever the observant student, Larana detected a distinct sense of loss in her master as his last sentence trailed off. The temptation to prod him for the details was great, but she resisted the urge. She decided that they had been through enough that day.

When they got back to the ship, they bid each other goodnight, and retired to their respective quarters. They had decided to plan their next move in the morning. Master Bakkar sat at the foot of his bed and contemplated the day’s events. Initially, it seemed like any other encounter he’d had with those who chose the path of darkness, or hovered just outside the grasp of the law. Now though, he was unsure. He felt as though there were some confounding factor. He felt that the two targets having escaped not only a bounty hunter, but a Sith as well with only a single wound between them was…too convenient. He knelt on the floor to meditate. Perhaps this would help him in planning the next move.

Larana lay in her cot, tired, but fully alert. She had not been satisfied with her master’s answer to her question regarding the Sith. This, aided by the sinking feeling that the limping Rodian was in grave danger, did little more than increase the intensity of the itch. She had to know what had happened to the man, and why the Sith refused to press the attack. Until she did, she feared sleep may be just as evasive as the latter. She closed her eyes, and recited the Jedi Code in her mind. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion…

-

Whether it was the unexpected company, the alcohol, or a mixture of both, Sari’ala couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that she was feeling much better than she had been when she first landed on the Smuggler’s Moon. She turned to the woman sleeping peacefully on her chest and smiled. 

Normally, Sari’ala preferred to be alone, but moments like this were not unwelcome. She relished the feeling of the Mirialan’s bare skin against her own. She enjoyed the soft sounds of her deep, but controlled breaths as her mind traversed its deepest regions. She would never admit it, but Sari’ala did have a soft side.

Perhaps she didn’t want to forget the whole day.

-

Elsewhere in the galaxy, a light tapping could be heard in an otherwise silent enclosure. If one had sought the source of this auditory oddity, one may have found a set of fingers dancing across the screen of a datapad in a dimly lit room. Line after line of notes were transcribed, detailing the events of the day, and the aftermath. Satisfied with what was displayed on the screen, the owner of the device turned the screen of and placed it on the table.

The Observer released a slow, calm breath. Perhaps plans would need to be altered. Either way, the Observer realized it didn’t matter as the result would be the same. Far too much work had gone into this project to not see it come to fruition.

Satisfied, the Observer produced a holocom from a small box under the desk. The observer pressed the button to transmit. The device displayed a successful connection, but no image was shown. This did not bother the Observer. After all, the organization with whom the Observer worked valued secrecy above all else.

“Report?” a distorted voice from the holocom requested.

“The adjustments will be made,” was the only reply the Observer gave. With that, the dutiful agent depressed the button once more, and the call ceased. The Observer’s work had only just begun.


	4. IV

In the ethereal darkness, he could just barely make out the form of what appeared to be a dark-haired human female. He was sure he recognized her, but he could not place a name to her face. The woman standing before him was powerful, that much he could tell. Her face bore the expression of one with a truly pure heart. He felt that she had no secret she wouldn’t willingly share with any nameless passerby. Her smooth features helped in retaining his attention, but her wardrobe hid whatever her body may look like well. A bit too well for his liking.

Then, as quickly as she came into his view, the warm small painting her face gave way to a silent shriek of terror at the sight of him. For no apparent reason, he felt empty. She turned and began to run as if in slow motion. She had yelled something at him, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Just as he was about to chase after her, a deep, menacing roar followed by what sounded like a falling tree sounded behind him. Everything went black.

Beryllius awoke with a start, panting as he found himself slouched uncomfortably in the pilot’s seat. “Just a dream,” he thought to himself. It was only then he became aware of a presence in the cockpit other than his own.

“My lord, we have arrived at the far side of Mygeeto. Shall I fetch your equipment?”

The rattling voice of the protocol droid helped Beryllius to return to the real world. “No that will be alright En-Nine,” he replied slightly shakily. “You may power down and recharge if you wish.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he responded with all the graciousness an Imperial Military protocol droid could muster. He was about to retire to the ship’s cargo hold to do as his master bid him when he stopped and turned to address the Sith he so dutifully served. “My lord,” he asked, “Is everything alright?”

“What do you mean?” Beryllius asked, slightly confused.

“Your nap seemed troubled my lord. You were muttering what seemed to be nonsense words and shifting erratically. I considered waking you before we arrived, but feared you would not appreciate my intervention should my concerns be unfounded.”

N9-4K, like all others of the NX series protocol droids had settings installed on him that allowed the owner of the unit to adjust its personality on a whim. Most Sith preferred to set their units to what Beryllius referred to as the “maximum ass-kiss” setting. He hadn’t bothered to change of the N9’s settings. He preferred to keep the droid in the state in which he had been designed to exist. As a result of this, his inorganic companion had developed a personality mirroring that of what Beryllius thought a long-time family butler might be like. He was polite and professional, but could be informal when the time was right. He also learned of his master’s habits and likes quickly, and adjusted his performance as the ship’s caretaker accordingly. As a result, he had a keen intellect for subtle changes in Beryllius’s mental state, and, dare the young Sith say, was concerned for him when he seemed distressed. Beryllius appreciated this.

“No my friend,” he reassured, “I assure you I am perfectly fine. Thank you.”

“As you say my lord.” With that, the droid returned to his task of recharging.

-

Mygeeto was often cold, which didn’t bother Beryllius. Quite the opposite in fact: it reminded him of Mirial, the home he had left so long ago. It brought back memories of his instructors at the small academy the Sith had constructed on his world. He reminisced fondly on the memories of the mischief he and his best friends had so often gotten into. All in all, being assigned to Mygeeto was privilege according to the green-skinned Lord.

Today however, was colder than normal. The thermometer at the listening post reported a temperature of minus three degrees. As far as the climate was concerned, it was pleasantly warm for this time of year. The source of the chill on this day came from a far different source. It came in the form of the neutral facial expression that - as it always did - adorned the tattooed, golden-orange face of his mistress. He noted that he cranial horns appeared sharper than normal today. Did she sharpen them? He assumed she did.

Darth Sereniel was, in all ways save for her persona, quite attractive. Still, this did little to comfort her apprentice. He entered the command center of the base with a small bow. “My Lady,” he greeted her.

“Apprentice,” she replied without turning to face him.

“I was not aware you would be aiding in today’s investigation, mistress.”

“As I had intended. You need only know what I say you need to know, Apprentice.”

“Of course, Mistress,” he replied. If the elder Sith had cared to truly listen to him, she may have detected the slight hint of sarcasm he had added to his half-heartedly apologetic reply.

“The spy has arrived. She acts as though nothing is out of the ordinary,” Darth Sereniel informed her student.

“She is certainly brave,” he offered in response. “Foolish of course, but brave.”

“Do you notice what is missing from this picture, Apprentice?”

“I’m afraid not, my lady.”

“You mentioned that she gave her parcel to Rodian contact. I see no Rodian, Beryllius. Have I begun to suffer from impaired vision, or have you lied to me?” she asked accusingly.

“I assure you this man did exist, Mistress,” he calmly replied. He sensed his teacher was withholding information from him. In an attempt to test this theory, he laid all his cards on the table and decided to give her a far more honest and complete explanation than was perhaps necessary. He figured if she truly was hiding something, such an unexpected move from his end may cause her to unknowingly reveal what she was attempting to conceal.

“Alas,” he continued, “I must admit that the blame still rests on me, Mistress.” She was visibly thrown off course by this admission. An Apprentice admitting their errors to their master without the latter offering so little as a threat was highly uncommon. Beryllius noticed this subtle change in attitude, and pressed the psychological attack. “You see, I merely assumed her contact would be with her, what with his newly lame leg thanks to the over-zealous bounty hunter I mentioned. It appears, I was wrong. The Rodian must have decided to chance an escape, making use of his partner’s return to us as a sort of cover. I regret this error, Mistress.”

She was shocked. She had no idea what to do. Should she beat him for his failure? No, because he willingly took the blame. Taking such an action would serve to make her look unstable; she couldn’t have that. Still, she had to punish him somehow. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Well…then…fix this mistake!”

“How shall I serve you, Mistress?” he said, a small grin forming on his face, concealed by the hood of his robe.

“You will- you…you will interrogate her! Now!” she commanded, attempting to retain control over the situation.

“As you wish.” With that, he spun on his heel and strode to the door. Just as he exited the room, he paused to deliver the killing blow. “One more thing, Mistress: I don’t remember telling you where Delesva was going, which begs the question, how did you know to come to Mygeeto?”

She did not answer. Instead, she shifted uncomfortably, and reached out with the force to shut the door in her apprentice’s face. He chuckled to himself. Now, he had the upper hand. Beryllius would get to the bottom of this plot if it was the last thing he ever did.

-

Ziima awoke to an empty bed. Briefly, she wondered where she was. Then, all at once, the memories of last night’s frivolities came back to her. She smiled at the thought. Repositioning herself to peer into the fresher, she caught sight of a pale orange Twi’lek, clad in only that with which she was born, vigorously drying herself after her shower.

“Morning, lover,” Ziima said to the woman.

Sari’ala did not turn to address the woman. Instead, she finished her task and began to make herself descent. “I have to go,” was her only response.

Ziima wasn’t deterred by the less than affectionate reply. “Aww, so soon?” she asked in the sweetest voice she could. “I was looking forward to a little time with you,” she sulked.

“Sorry, I’m on a tight schedule now,” the bounty hunter dismissed. “I’ve gotta start tracking that son-of-a-Hutt immediately if I’m to have any hope of getting paid.”

Ziima had anticipated a response such as this, and planned accordingly. She adopted a tone of slight emotional distress. “So…money is more important to you?” she asked, feigning being on the verge of tears.

Sari’ala paused; for some reason, her simple and truthful answer of “yes” refused to escape her lips. She mentally chided herself for her weakness to this woman who she had known for less than twelve hours. She attempted to respond: “Well…yes, but, no…but…it’s complicated.”

Ziima willed her tear glands to produce a convincing effect. In truth, she had no expectation of convincing Sari’ala not to continue with her day’s plans. She only sought to plant a seed of doubt in the accomplished outlaw.

The look on the Mirialan’s face tugged at heart strings Sari’ala was unaware she possessed. She willed herself to be strong, but her subconscious was desperately urging her to capitulate to the requests of her counterpart. She chose ambiguity. “Look, I’d love to stay with you, but I can’t,” she explained earnestly. “There’s a lot at stake here, and I’ can’t afford to miss this chance.” Seeing that her words offered little comfort, she softened her tone and sat on the side of the bed. “Here, I’ll give you my holo number. Give me a call in a few days, and we can talk.”

Ziima relented, and happily wrote down the number, satisfied with her performance. Sari’ala kissed her on the forehead, and quickly moved to the door to leave. Just as she was about to complete her task however, Ziima softly spoke up. “Sari…” she beckoned. Nobody, nobody, was permitted to call her that, yet the hunter found herself to be not upset, but compelled to stop.

Without turning to the smaller woman, she hung her head and sighed: “Yes?”

“If I call this number, I’m not going to get some diner on Ord Mantell, am I?”

“I’ve never been to Ord Mantell,” she responded bluntly.

Ziima chuckled, “Great! Good luck, hun,” she said sweetly.

A quick “thanks” was all Sari’ala could muster. What was wrong with her today? “Stop being soft!” she silently screamed at herself. Once outside the hotel room, she took a deep breath, and refocused herself, attempting to put any thought of the exotic goddess on the other side of the door out of her mind.

“Time to get paid,” she said to herself. She hailed a speeder to take her back to her hangar.

-

Ziima waited until the other woman was gone to allow the smile she had been concealing to reveal itself. She laid back with her hands behind her head, content with her convincing charade. Somewhere in her mind, there was a faint twinge of guilt for conning the hunter, but by in large, she felt little remorse. Her job was complete, and she had quite a fun time doing it. Everything was going according to plan. She closed her eyes, and let herself drift off for a few more hours of sleep.

-

Beryllius wondered why the base’s commander had assigned him a security detail. Surely the officer didn’t think he, a Lord of the Sith needed protection, did he? This was not to say that Beryllius believed himself a god as some of his Dark Side brethren did. On the contrary, he had always remained grounded firmly in reality. He had no illusions of his life actually leaving any noticeable mark on the galaxy. He knew he would never become one of the great Sith of history. At best, he figured he may appear as a footnote on some holonet history program about the IDSA. This didn’t bother him though. He was fine with being a foot soldier so to speak. He was doing what he had been trained to do, and that was to defend the Supreme Empire. This was enough for him.

Still, he could do little to prevent his mind from returning to the dream he had the previous night. Who was she, and why had she trespassed into his subconscious mind? Beryllius had never believed his dreams where “prophecies of the future,” but this felt different. He didn’t believe in fate, but he sensed that the events of his nocturnal escapade did await him in the near future. He willed himself to return to his present task; there was little he could do to affect something that hadn’t happened anyway.

He was thrown back into reality by the voice of the soldier to his right. “There my lord!” They were standing at the edge of a crevice the Mirialan could only assume went down several thousand or more meters. Across the chasm stood a small, unmarked building. A hundred or so meters to the left of it, a data receiver hung over the mouth of the abyss. Attached via a jury-rigged support system, hung a lone figure.

Looking through the macrobinoculars one of the soldiers had given him, Beryllius could see exactly what was unfolding. He saw a human woman replacing a series of what appeared to be capacitors in the dish. He recognized her. The Sith let out a low, sinister chuckle and turned to the woman on his left.

“Captain, get me over there,” he commanded, “I need to have a little chat with that technician.

“Aye, my lord,” came her reply. With that, the small party marched towards a bridge uniting the otherwise divided sides of the seemingly bottomless pit.

-

“Thanks, Zat,” Sari’ala said to the image of the huge Chiss on her holocom. “I oh ya one big time for this.

The Chiss laughed at this. “Yeah, just add that to the tally,” he playfully replied. “And the money too, of course.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’ll get it when I have some to give ya greedy bastard,” she teased.

“I’m holding you to that,” he chuckled. “Good hunting, Sari’ala.”

“Same to you, big guy.” She ended the call. This bounty was going to give her ulcers. That was the third favor she had to call in that morning to find the greasy son-of-a-Hutt. She cycled through her contacts, hoping to find someone with ties to the SIS. She stopped when she came upon a number she didn’t recognize. The contact was simply labeled “You Know Who.” Sari’ala’s heart skipped a beat. Ziima must have added herself to her contacts when she wasn’t looking.

For a moment, the hunter considered calling the number. No, she couldn’t; she had to focus. With a slight pain of regret, she passed the number over, and continued her search. 

-

The room smelled of hot caf and fresh fruit. The table’s lone occupant sipped gingerly at the mug of the refreshing beverage. A quiet electronic chime revealed that a message had been received. Setting the cup down, the Observer scanned the datapad. The message was cryptic, but the Observer understood it fully.

“Done. We even now?” were the words displayed on the screen.

The Observer chuckled and typed out a response: “Not even close.”


	5. V

Larana leapt backwards just in time to avoid being struck by her attacker. Having opted for a heavy, sweeping strike, her opponent had left himself temporarily open on his side. Seeing this, the young Jedi put all of her strength into a crippling blow originating from her left side. She was successful. The melee combat training droid registered a point in her favor. This was her third victory over the mechanical challenger; she had won their duel. Satisfied, she shut the droid down, and made her way the ship’s common area.

Her master had prepared a simple morning meal of nerf sausage and toast with jelly. Despite this, he was actually quite a good cook…after he’d been awake for more than few hours, that is.

“Good morning, Master Bakkar,” she greeted cheerfully, though ever so slightly out of breath.

He smiled: “Did you rest peacefully?”

“For the most part. I had a few strange dreams, but nothing that out of the ordinary.”

“Excellent. So, what do you think our next move should be, Larana?”

She considered his question for a moment. “Contact SIS to see if they know anything of the spies on Nal Hutta,” she concluded.

“Very good,” he praised. “And I have done just that. Turns out, the man is named Mehllev. He serves as a handler for deep cover agent’s working behind enemy lines. The woman is one of these agents. She’s been passing on information about Imperial espionage operations on Mygeeto for nearly a year now.” His tone shifted to a more regretful one. “Unfortunately, neither of them have checked in recently.”

Her heart sank. “You mean they haven’t checked in since their rendezvous yesterday?

“…that’s where things start to get interesting,” he stated, a hint of caution and nervousness in his voice. “It’s been longer than that. The last time SIS headquarters heard anything from either of them was when they were due to return home…two months ago. They’ve been on leave for seven weeks.”

Larana couldn’t believe it. SIS wouldn’t lie to the Jedi, so she could only assume they were in the dark just as much as she and Master Bakkar. “Why would they have had a meeting like that then?” she asked.

“That’s not even the whole story. According to SIS records, the ship they returned to Coruscant on never actually reached its destination. It was reported missing. They managed to locate it a few days ago. It was left abandoned and lifeless in orbit over Kaon. They found no trace of the ship’s crew, nor any sign of an attack. To make matters even more confusing, Kaon is a neutral system. Aiding Republic spy operations would make them an enemy of the Empire. Several times now the Kaonese government has declined offers to join the Republic.”

“So why would they put their relationship with the Empire in jeopardy?” the Padawan enquired.

“That’s my question exactly. Assuming Kaon is an innocent bystander, we are left with two possibilities. Either the ship was caught off guard and boarded without a fight, or there was a mutiny on board. The problem is, the Republic hasn’t received any ransom notices for the vessel’s crew and passengers, so a boarding by pirates is unlikely.”

“What if the Empire took them?

“They couldn’t have,” the Cathar responded, “According to SIS sources on Taris, one of the top priorities of the IDSA has been stopping the leak on Mygeeto. The Empire has no idea the operation was cancelled.”

“Which means that they are still at work on it, but not for the Republic,” Larana deduced.

“It’s the only logical explanation,” Bakkar responded. “But who else would they be working for?”

“The Hutts, perhaps?”

“It’s unlikely. The transmissions sent through that station are mostly about naval practice operations. There’s no money in that, so the Hutt’s wouldn’t have any motive to rile up either side.”

Larana pondered the situation. It didn’t make sense to her. Why would two respected SIS operatives turn their backs on their people, only to continue to compromise the Empire? Suddenly, it hit her.

“Master, the Dark Council has a representative in the IDSA, right?

Confused, he responded, “Yes. Why?”

“What if some of the Sith are organizing a coup to overthrow the government and seize power?”  
“For what reason?”

“Greed, fear, evil; you know, typical Sith stuff.”

Bakkar thought about this for a moment. He could find no holes in her theory. Nevertheless, it was a longshot. “I think you may be onto something, Larana,” he responded. “We’ll have to get back to Coruscant to access SIS’s records on the Dark Council to find out who we’re looking for.”

“I’ll set the coordinates right away!” she announced gleefully. She sprang up from her seat, and darted off to the cockpit. She never failed to impress him.

Larana had first arrived to the academy when she was just four years old. Immediately, she proved to be a quick learner, and an adept combatant. Master Bakkar guided her all the way, officially taking her on as his padawan seven years later. Now, at twenty years of age, she was a full grown woman, and nearly ready to face the Trials. Still, her intellect never ceased to amaze her master.

-

Ruugo lie awake in his bed. He looked to the chronometer next to his bed. Three-oh-nine. Perfect. It seemed slip would evade him once more. Given this realization, his mind turned back to the events of the previous day. He wondered what ever became of the main perpetrators. Of course, he knew what happened to the Jedi: he asked them to leave. But the surly couple, the enraged Sith, the trigger-happy bounty hunter? Where had they gone? Ruugo didn’t care about politics, but he knew enough to know neither Sith nor Jedi would just give up on a target.

Now, bounty hunters on the other hand; bounty hunters he knew quite a bit about. He knew that somewhere out there, somebody was about to make the wrong move towards a young Twi’lek, a move that would surely result in the former become intimately familiar with the feel of a blaster bolt to the head.

The more he thought about, he ached to know what was on that holodisc that meant so much too so many people. The thought of attempting to locate and help the Rodian spy had crossed his mind but, again, Ruugo had no interest in politics. He didn’t understand the disagreements between the two powers, nor their affiliated force-sensitive organizations. To him, it was a pointless squabble that began long before anyone could remember, and would likely never end.

He sighed; perhaps the galaxy was just a violent place by nature. What was it the Sith said? There’s no peace, just passion? He figured it was something like that. Maybe the Sith were right. But then what were they fighting for? Nobody fights just to fight, they fight to win. But what was there for the Sith to win? For that matter, what did the Jedi have to gain? 

At this point, he remembered why he disliked politics: nothing changed, nobody won, and the conflict never ended. He decided to try once again to get some sleep. No sooner had he laid his head on his pillow then he heard a frantic knocking at his door.

He looked at the chronometer once more. Three-sixteen. Who in the blazes would be pounding on his door at this hour, and why? The pounding rang out again. Ruugo sighed, and went to answer the door.

-

“Darth Sereniel,” Agent Kal Mizhem announced enthusiastically. An old friend of Master Bakkar’s, the all too energetic for his age human had been the one to give them the information they had thus far. So, when Bakkar and his padawan showed up in the SIS headquarters lobby asking for information on the Dark Council, he was more than happy to help. “Looks like she took over the Dark Council’s intelligence operations just over six years ago.”

Larana shuddered at the image of this frightening Sith. Her skin was as orange as a Tatooine sunset, and she was adorned with dozens of Zabrak tribal tattoos. Larana had a multitude of Zabrak friends, but not one of them had horns that…sharp. She wondered if the Dark Lady did it on purpose. It sounded painful to her.

“Has she ever shown any signs of disloyalty to the Empire?” Bakkar asked.

“Doesn’t look like it. She’s known to be pretty cold and stuck up, but otherwise, she’s a pretty unremarkable person as far as Sith go.”

“Do any other Sith have a say in the IDSA?” Larana enquired.

“Ha! Where should we start?” Mizhem laughed as looked at the Jedi-in-training. “See, here’s the thing about the Sith. It’s hard to tell whose fingers are in which pie at any given time. They aren’t nearly as organized as you are. Here, there’s Jedi business, and then there’s government business. Plain and simple. There? Who knows what’s going on.”

“The Sith have little regard for any rules, especially their own,” added feline knight.

“Exactly,” Mizhem confirmed, “So when you ask a question like, ‘which other Sith have pull in the ISDA?’ the answer is, ‘yes’”

“Well let’s start at the top then,” she suggested. “Does Darth Sereniel have an apprentice?”

“Let me check,” the Agent replied enthusiastically.

Master Bakkar seemed to have a small revelation at that moment. Wide-eyed, he turned to the young woman and said, “Now you’re really on to something.”

“What’s that?”

“The way the Sith ascend the chain of command. The Jedi High Council grants Jedi the rank of master and elects new members based on things like experience, knowledge, and loyalty. The Sith climb through their ranks by disgracing or murdering anyone above them. So-”

Larana finished her master’s thought for him, “…so if Sereniel has an apprentice, they could be the one orchestrating this whole thing?”

“Precisely!” he responded. 

No sooner had they finished their collective thought, then the Agent interrupted, “That’s your slime ball; name’s Lord Beryllius.”

Larana instantly felt a chill run down her spine as she looked at the holoimage. The plain black robe, the deep crimson eyes, the tattooed green skin; she recognized him instantly. “It’s him,” she stated, he voice betraying her ill-ease.

“Who?” the men asked in unison.

“That’s the Sith from the cantina yesterday.”

Mizhem turned to his friend. “Well Po old buddy, looks like your protégé’s got it figured out.”

Master Bakkar placed his hand on Larana’s shoulder, smiling proudly as he did so. “That’s my padawan,” he stated, “That’s my padawan.”

-

That very same moment, yet very far away indeed, the subject of the Jedi’s search stood beneath a data receiver on the frigid world of Mygeeto, ready to get some of his own questions answered.  
He called to the woman suspended by the waist above the gaping maw, “Good day to you!”

Delesva looked to Beryllius, not phased in the least bit by his presence. As she had been since he first started showing up here, she was a step ahead of him. Looking back to her work, she casually responded, “How goes it, my lord?” Captain Gelenaana frowned at the way this woman addressed the Sith. Gelenaana believed that respect for one’s superiors was vital for a successful Empire.

Beryllius on the other hand, seemed not to notice the technician’s disrespectful tone, or if he did, he didn’t care. He pressed forward with his mission, “Might a have a word with you, madam?”

“I’m listening,” she replied.

Now the crimson-eyed Lord was starting to get annoyed. Gelenaana noticed this. She enjoyed his intolerance for the peon’s disrespect. 

“I did mean on the ground.” His irritation was beginning to show.

“Kinda busy, m’lord.”

That was the straw the broke the dewback’s back. “Now you listen here you kriffing worm!” the Captain shouted, “You will come down here, answer our lord’s questions, and beg for his forgiveness, or I will come up there and throw you into the chasm myself!”

Captain Gelenaana had Beryllius’s complete, undivided attention.

“Whew, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the cot,” Delesva prodded. “Okay Captain, you win.” With that, the Republic agent came down. 

Gelenaana apologized to Lord Beryllius profusely, both for Delesva’s behavior, and for her out-of-turn speech.

“On the contrary, Captain,” he replied. “I appreciate your assistance in the matter.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with a small bow. 

At that moment Delesva presented herself to the Imperial envoy. With a mockingly deep bow, she said, “What can I do for y- “ she instantly felt an intense pressure on her airway.

Beryllius looked directly into her eyes and answered her in a menacingly low, and sadistically quiet tone. “Do not toy with me Agent Delesva Liderian, SIS service code: 3B775N, homeworld: Corellia; you know exactly what I want!” He released his force-grip on her neck, and she fell to the ground, gasping for air.

“I’m afraid you’ve got me confused with someone else,” she replied, satisfaction obvious in her voice, “Delesva Liderian went missing almost two months ago. Go ahead, check with SIS. They haven’t received a damn thing from this outpost in months.”

“Lies,” he responded calmly.

“You only wish, Sith. Oh and by the way, don’t bother looking for Mehllev. Just like the rest of the nerf-brained idiots on our tail, you fell for our game. By now, he’s long gone, and you’ll never see him again. So go ahead, torture me, kill me, do whatever you want; you’ve already lost. At this point, you’re just wasting your time. 

“Lost? I didn’t know I was playing a game.”

Delesva looked Beryllius dead in the eye and smiled. “No; you didn’t.” With that, the rogue agent closed her eyes, and let herself fall backwards. Shocked, he ran to the edge of the cliff, only to see her fall into the complete darkness of the abyss. The trail, just as the planet itself it seemed, had gone cold.

-

Ruugo groggily trundled over to the door, and pressed the button to open it. What he saw shocked him more than anything else could have at the moment. There, leaning in his door frame, stood none other than the wounded Rodian of the previous day.

Mehllev looked up to Ruugo. Panic filled the smaller man’s eyes. He was tired, hungry, weak, and in a lot of pain. When he finally managed to speak, all was able to say was, “[Help me.]” before he collapsed where he stood.

-

“Correct again,” thought the Observer. It was true. The plans had changed, but everything was running smoother than ever. The results were truly inevitable. Countless hours had already been invested by a whole host of different entities into uncovering the plan, yet none of them had made even the slightest bit of meaningful progress. The Observer smiled at this thought. “How perfect can life be?”


	6. VI

For Lord Beryllius, life was anything but perfect. In fact, few words in any of the languages he spoke could do a worse job at describing his life at this moment. Indeed, the word “sand” was a far better descriptor of his situation. Like sand, Beryllius was scattered, lacked even the first clue as to what was happening, and getting nowhere at unfathomably high speeds. In that moment, he decided that if anyone were to approach him with a “How are you, my lord?” or perhaps a “How ya’ doin’ Bery!?” his response would simply be, “Sand.”

Most of the time, ridiculous thoughts like this would have made the Mirialan chuckle at himself, but today, nothing would calm him. Mehllev had disappeared, he hadn’t eaten in what felt like days, and his only lead on whatever it was the Republic was up too had decided to go cave diving without a jetpack. In every way imaginable, Beryllius Aeradeus, Lord of the Sith, and apprentice to Darth Sereniel, was well and truly kriffed.

Captain Gelenaana had sent a team to attempt to find the remains of late spy, but they had yet to report back. She, Beryllius, and the three other soldiers on the security detail were held up now in the small building adjacent to the data receiver. Though it provided little relief from the chill of the outside, it did at least give them a quieter place to think. The Captain had been examining the records of the site from the past three months for the better part of an hour, but she had yet to find anything worth noting.

At the rear of the one room building, Beryllius paced back and forth, his mind replaying the scene over and over again. If she was here on behalf of neither the Empire nor the Republic, who did she work for? And more importantly, what were they attempting to do?

Just then, it hit him. He remembered his suspicions of his Mistress’s involvement in whatever this scheme was from that morning. Perhaps the trail hadn’t ended, but rather taken a sharp turn. Now however, he was faced with an overwhelmingly difficult task. The young Sith had to interrogate a cunning Dark Councilor without her knowledge. For once, he did not relish the idea of a challenge.

-

Ziima walked at a brisk pace down the alleyway. Her eyes constantly darted in every direction. She had no idea why she felt it necessary to see her followers, but it gave at least a small amount of comfort.

Just as she was about to round the corner, a protocol droid stopped her in her path. She was about to give the old bucket of bolts a piece of her mind, when it began to speak. “You will compromise the target and retrieve the location of the item, or you will pay dearly.” With that, the droid hobbled off to go about its business.

Ziima stood frozen in shock, tears - real tears - beginning to form in her eyes. She’d been under their control for so long. They promised that bounty hunter would be her last con before she was released; they lied. It was at that moment that Ziima realized that as long as they existed, she would never be free. She began to silently weep. She had to do something, but there was nothing she could do. In a last ditch effort at salvation, she pulled her holocom from her pocket. Looking through the contacts, she came to two numbers. One would connect her with the tough-as-nails bounty hunter from the night before. The other…the other was someone Ziima had not spoken to in many years. Someone who was unlikely to take kindly to her sudden reappearance in their life.

Perhaps she should accept her fate. Perhaps should just does as she was told, and bring Sari’ala unwillingly into the folds. She certainly owed the other woman nothing. But the weight it would put on Ziima - ruining a person’s life - would be far too much for her to bear.

In an instant, her mind was made up; she would be strong. She selected the bounty hunter’s number, and hit connect. Her heart raced with anticipation.

-

Zattro Zarkos was a household name for anybody with any ties to the criminal underworld. He was one of the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunters, and a three time champion of the Great Hunt. As chance would have it, he was also quite friendly with a bounty hunter named Sari’ala Biv’icre. He was something of a mentor to her. He had taught her much of what she knew about their shared profession.

So when Zattro found himself strolling Nal Hutta’s streets looking for work, or perhaps a good fight, he instantly recognized the Rodian man doing his best to keep up with a human female who struggled to drag him along. He had been shot in the leg. He remembered Sari’ala telling him about this guy. He had a nice, fat price on his head, and Sari’ala had been lucky enough to score the job.

Through the years, Zattro had made sure to show his criminal colleagues that he was always willing to return favors when they needed it. He built a reputation of cooperation, and as such, he got cut in on a lot of great high price jobs. Earlier that day, he had agreed to be on the lookout for the Rodian in question. As the two ran towards him, he drew his twin blasters on them. The disheveled couple stopped in their tracks.

After using his usual routine of posing as a street thief, he came to realize that these two were part of something big. He switched his game, and decided to tell them that he was a friend of theirs, they just didn’t know it.

Maybe it was a result of their desperation, but they didn’t question him. They told him as little as possible to get what they wanted, and it seemed to work. Zattro suggested that Delesva flee the planet in her ship, while Zattro would wait an hour or two, and the provide Mehllev safe passage to a “friendly system.” The duo agreed, and Delesva was on her way.

Once Zattro was satisfied that she was gone, he put a blaster to Mehllev’s forehead for the second time that day. The Rodian was too shocked to say anything. In his typical fashion, Zattro delivered a strong blow to the back of Mehllev’s head, knocking him out cold. He then took the much smaller man to his safe house in the city, and locked him in. Sari’ala would be pleased to hear the news.

As he stepped outside to find a safe place to call his friend, something caught his eye. A hooded figure seemed to be staring at him from down the street. Deciding to investigate, Zattro moved towards his stalker. As he did so though, the mystery person retreated into a back alley. Zattro had no intention of ceasing his investigation. He too turned the corner, only to have the hooded figure stab him from behind with a needle containing an unknown fluid. Zattro Zarkos was asleep before he hit the ground.

-  
It was a bold request, but it had to be done, and if there were any Jedi in the Order to come to the Council and make this plea, Polendi Bakkar was that Jedi. With his padawan standing silently to his left, the Cathar pitched his request to the High Council.

“Bakkar, have you gone mad?” asked Master Orohn Kepp, an elderly Zabrak male.

“[Perhaps we should here him out,]” the middle aged Duros Master Kovii Penk interjected in the mother tongue.

“I concur,” added Master Hollen Delfis, a young human male, and the Council’s newest member. 

“It’s outrageous!” replied the hot-headed Twi’lek Master Ol’nora Kech’reni, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Enough,” bid Master Jilonek Bahrel, an elderly human female, and the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. “Polendi, please explain yourself,” she requested in her signature calm, even tone.

“Masters,” Bakkar began, “I realize how highly unorthodox it is to request permission to meet with a Sith Lord, let alone a sitting Dark Council member, but we may have no other option. My padawan and I have reason to believe Darth Sereniel’s apprentice, Lord Beryllius, is planning to overthrow his mistress, and begin using the IDSA to undermine the Imperial government.”

“And this is bad thing?” asked Master Kepp.

“It very well may be, Master,” responded Bakkar. “If a young Sith who has been trained under one of the most ruthless and cold Sith we know of comes to power in the Empire, it could lead to war.”

The council debated amongst themselves for a moment. Master Bahrel was the one to deliver the verdict. “Master Bakkar, you and your padawan have the council’s support for your peace-keeping mission.”

“Thank you, Masters,” he responded with a slight bow. With Larana in tail, Bakkar exited the High Council’s chambers. It was time to end the madness, and hopefully save a lot of innocent lives in the process.  
-

The Rodian stood at parade rest as his commander detailed the mission to him. It was simple enough. All he had to do was relay messages from a deep cover agent to headquarters. Easy as taking credits from a gambler.

In a former life, Mehllev had been a conman. Warrants for his arrest, bounties on his head, and people looking to beat their frustrations out of him where spread far and wide across the galaxy. That’s when SIS contacted him with an offer. He would use his unique set of skills to work under cover, and in exchange, the Republic’s intelligence agency would give him a new identity, and a well-guarded upper-city residence on Coruscant. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Now though, some part of him wished he had done just that: refused. He had awoken to find himself locked in cage in a building he was unfamiliar with. He instinctively yelled for help, but was met with silence. For several hours, he sat and waited. He had never been captured, thus he knew not how to escape. He sat and considered his situation. He thought of how that damned organization coerced him into helping them. He thought of the woman who, in only a few minutes of conversation had done two irreversible things to him: she had both stolen his heart, and ruined his life. Mehllev hoped beyond all hope that his beloved was safe.

Just as he was about to give up hope, the door to the small bungalow opened. A figure, masked by a cloak, entered the room. In a quiet whisper, the feminine voice addressed him: “I am a friend, Mehllev. I’m here to free you.” 

And free him, she did. Before he had the chance to ask her any questions, she raised a single finger to where he assumed her mouth was, turned around, and left. Mehllev tried to run after her, but as soon as she had exited the building, she was nowhere to be found.

Mehllev knew he wouldn’t last long on his own in this state. He limped his way over to another small home, and began to pound on the door. The door opened, and a tall, muscular human clad in only his undergarments answered. Mehllev could swear he had seen this man before, but before he had the chance to give the hulking male another thought, the world began to spin, and everything went black.

-

Though Sari’ala herself had no contacts within SIS, she was able to get scraps of information on Mehllev through her underworld acquaintances. She had learned of his, as well as Delesva’s recall, and their prompt disappearance. Unfortunately, this brought her no closer to his current whereabouts. 

She rested her head in her hands as fear built within her. It was a rare emotion for her to feel, but she thought it was justified now, given the gravity of her situation. She feared retaliation from her employers. She knew all too well what they were capable of.

Suddenly, her holocom signaled her of an incoming transmission. She accepted the call, and was greeted by the familiar visage of a beautiful young Mirialan.

“We need to talk,” said Ziima.

-

The harrowing image of Darth Sereniel appeared on the holocom in the center of Bakkar’s Ship’s common area. She bore a slight look of confusion when presented with the image of two Jedi.

“Greetings, Darth Sereniel,” Bakkar greeted politely.

“Greetings,” said Larana.

“Master Bakkar and his padawan,” responded the Sith, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Sereniel,” began the Master, “We request to meet with you on Mygeeto. We have information that we believe may be of interest to you.”

Her confusion deepened, “And why would such and ardent defender of the Jedi Order seek to aid a Dark Lady of the Sith?”

“My lady,” Larana interjected, “What we wish to discuss with you is in regard your apprentice, Lord Beryllius. We think he’s plotting against you in a way that could do irreparable damage to not only the Empire, but the Republic as well.”

Sereniel was both amused and intrigued by the young girl’s words. “I see. Very well then, you shall have safe passage to land. I’m transmitting the coordinates of our rendezvous point to you now. Sereniel out.” The call ended.

“Well that was easy,” Larana stated.

“Yeah. Let’s just hope she sticks to her word regarding our ‘safe passage,’” her master responded cautiously.

What none of them knew was that another party had listened to their correspondence. Four Imperial naval officers and one Sith Lord had silently listened in on the conversation. Using the small station’s capability to intercept messages, technical officer Ensign Doozik had rerouted Sereniel’s coordinates to be transmitted to them instead of the Jedi. In its place, Beryllius ordered the short human male to transmit the location of the station they currently inhabited. The Mirialan Lord was back on the trail.

-

Against her better judgement, Sari’ala had invited Ziima to her ship. Sitting on the extended ramp of The Resh Dragon, she anxiously awaited the arrival of the latter. When the slender Mirialan came into view, Sari’ala’s heart sank. The other woman was clearly distressed; the redness of her eyes hinted that tears had recently been shed.

Ziima, head hung low, walked up to the Twi’lek outlaw. “I have a few things I need to tell you,” she said quietly.

Sari’ala looked around the hangar, checking to make sure no one was watching the exchange. Satisfied that they were alone, she responded, “Come in.” The two women walked up the ramp and into the ship’s hold as the ramp retracted behind them.

-

Ruugo had managed to tend to the wounds of the distressed man who sought his help. Small opportunities to help those in need were one of the few pleasures in the bouncer’s otherwise dismal life. He returned from the galley of his bungalow with a small glass of aged Alderaanian whiskey. He sat in a chair facing the bed on which the injured alien laid. He was anxious to ask the man some questions, but he thought it best to let him get some rest first. 

Patiently, Ruugo sat watching the holonet as he sipped his beverage and waited for Mehllev to awake. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the Rodian’s hand. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Mehllev had a small object gripped tightly between his long digits. Ruugo rose quietly, and walked over to the bed. Opening the unconscious man’s hand, his heart skipped a beat as he saw what it was the scrawny alien had been guarding so closely: the holodisc.

-

The Observer was not pleased. An agent of the organization had gone missing. This could not be tolerated. The Observer would not stand to see the plan threatened by a mere lackey. A search was ordered and threats were sent out. If the agent could not be located, The Observer would be forced to use the leverage the organization had over her. 

It was a simple task; an anonymous call the right person was all that was needed, but it would complicate things even further. The Observer despised changing the plan, and was revolted by the idea of having to do it yet again. The Observer released a deep breath and thought, “Just let it play out for a little while. It will sort itself out. Nobody will believe the little street rat anyway. Everything will be fine.”


	7. VII

With bated breath, Ruugo gently removed the holodisc from his impromptu patient’s hand. For a moment, he considered the moral implications of what he was about to do. Perhaps he should wait until the Rodian awoke and ask his permission to view the document’s content. No, Kriff that. He was done being subservient. Ruugo wanted answers, and damn it, he would have them.

With a new found confidence, he marched over to his seat, picked up his datapad, and inserted the disc. Walls of text, timelines, names, and more flooded his screen. He skimmed the contents. He found records of bribery, extortion, even murder. He saw lists of names of people considered to be “agents” of the nefarious organization responsible for these atrocities. 

He found a folder simply named “Leverage.” Clicking it, Ruugo was met with a list of folders bearing the names he had seen on the “agents” list. Picking one at random, he was met with several pictures of what appeared to be a Republic senator engaged in what the document referred to as “extramarital liaisons.” Another folder contained an accountant’s log for an employee of Kuat Drive Yards. Highlighted were a series of small discrepancies. Ruugo interpreted this as evidence that whoever this was had been embezzling millions of credits from the corporation.

Scrolling down further, a folder caught his eye. It read: SIS Agent, codename: Mehllev.  
A double agent in the SIS? How deep did this go? He opened the folder, and was shocked as he was greeted by a picture of the very individual who lay unconscious not three meters away. He read the description given.

Name: Vallav Pinekra  
Aliases: Mehllev  
Sex: Male  
Species: Rodian  
Homeworld: Rodia  
Skin: Light Blue  
Eyes: Black  
Height: 1.54m  
Mass: ~45kg  
Occupation: Republic SIS agent. Former confidence artist.  
Leverage:  
-Republic arrest warrant. Value: 1,500,000 credits  
-Imperial arrest warrant. Value: 1,380,000 credits  
-Various Hutt Cartel bounties. Average value: ~3,562,104.23 credits  
-Black Sun bounty. Value: 5,000,000 credits (dead), 20,000,000 credits (alive)  
Ruugo let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding. What had this man done that led so many people to hate him so much? Furthermore, now that Ruugo knew, what was he to do about it? This warranted another glass of whiskey.

-

The Lightbringer IX landed near a small building bordering a massive crack in the planet’s surface. The ship’s owner, Jedi Master Polendi Bakkar, and his padawan Larana Narianol exited the corvette. They wore their winter gear, which did little to combat the planet’s surely negative temperature. The snow fell so thickly that neither guardian of the light could see anything more than a meter or so away. 

They walked as quickly as they could to the small outpost. As the pair came closer, the shapes of five humanoid figures came into view. Once they were close enough to see the faces of the members of their pseudo-welcoming party, Larana’s heart sank. The Sith, flanked by four Imperial naval officers, two to each side of him, was most certainly not Darth Sereniel. The Sith who greeted them was Lord Beryllius.

“Greetings, Jedi!” Beryllius yelled to them not to intimidate, but to be heard over the deafening sounds of the blizzard. “Please, join me inside. We have hot caf and some warming lanterns!” The Jedi did not respond. “Follow me,” he pointed to the entrance on the side of the building, “This way.”

Once the group was inside the building, the Mirialan Lord proceeded to pour a cup of piping hot caf for each of the Jedi, while one of the officers handed each of them a warming lantern. So far, the Sith had been truthful. With the welcome complete, Beryllius removed his hood, and looked to the Jedi. At this late hour, Beryllius’s mind hadn’t immediately made the connection between his dream and the padawan. Now however, he noticed the similarity. She had been the one to duel him on Nal Hutta. She stared at him, a mix of fear and curiosity in her eyes. She was beautiful, though a part of him wished to see her smile. If he had learned anything from his dream, it was that her beauty grew exponentially when a smile adorned her face.

Wait what? What was he thinking? She was a sworn enemy! He put the thought out of his mind - a recurring motif of the past few days, he had noticed - and was about to speak, when the Cathar broke the ice for him.

“What’s this all about, Sith?” he asked.

Then, his pupil spoke. “We know what you’re up to, Sith.” For no particular reason, he quite enjoyed the venom she placed on her sentences concluding word.

“Look, I know you think you have me figured out,” Beryllius began, “But you’ve got me all wrong. I have no ambition to overthrow my mistress. As for my role in orchestrating this conspiracy, I assure, I haven’t one. I was sent here to investigate a leak. In fact, the only reason we are conversing so far away from any significant location is that this is where the woman whom you witnessed passing information to the Rodian on Nal Hutta was stationed. Until only a couple of hours ago, I myself had assumed I had the plot figured out: she was still passing along information, and my mistress was protecting her, presumably for some substantial reward from the Republic. That was, until she informed me that she had passed nothing to the SIS in months. I would have asked her more, but she unfortunately threw herself into the chasm after revealing this, in what I assume was an attempt to avoid divulging her true intentions.”

Larana and her master exchanged glances. “What else do you know,” Bakkar enquired.

“I’m afraid that is the extent of my knowledge, Master Jedi. By the way, I apologize but I seem to have forgotten my manners; my name is Lord Beryllius,” he said with a slight bow, “Although I believe you already knew that.”

“My name is Master Polendi Bakkar, and this,” he pointed the small female sat next to him, “Is my padawan Larana.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintances,” the emerald-colored man replied. “Now that I have told you what I know, perhaps you may be able to fill in some of the gaps.”

Larana waited for her master to speak, but instead, he remained silent and still. She decided to fill the Sith in. While she hated the idea of cooperating with any Sith, some primal feeling in her gut told her he hadn’t lied to them. As she spoke, Master Bakkar continued his silent protest.

-

As soon as the ship’s airlock closed, Ziima broke down and began to weep. Sari’ala had never had to comfort another being in her life, and as such, had no idea how to go about it. Uncomfortably and robotically, she placed her arms around the smaller woman’s shoulders in what could only very loosely be defined as a “hug.” In response, Ziima threw her arms around the Twi’lek’s waist and squeezed as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated between sobs. What the kriff was going on? Sari’ala was losing her patience with the cryptic nature of the last few days, and she wanted an explanation. Now.

She released her grip on the younger girl, and stepped back, “Alright, I’ve had just about enough of the being in the dark shit!” she snapped. “What in the name of all the credits in this kriffing galaxy is going on!?”

Ziima attempted to pull herself together. She supposed that, having played the older woman as she had, she did owe her some sort of an explanation. She looked to the hunter, streaks from fresh tears staining her face. Finally, she asked weakly, “How much do you know about the Children of Eternal Peace?”

-

Larana finished recounting what they had learned from the SIS records, and Beryllius in return had done his best to fill in any remaining gaps with information from the ISDA. Master Bakkar was visibly agitated by his padawan’s actions, but he remained silent.

The Sith, now pacing and stroking his chin in thought, ran through the situation in his head again and again, looking for some sort of clue. He believed the young Jedi, but that didn’t mean anything actually made sense.

“It would seem our stories corroborate each either perfectly,” he said, now seated opposite Larana, “But that still doesn’t answer the central question: who were they working for?”

“That’s where we got stuck too,” she replied.

Beryllius thought for a moment before asking her, “You said this Republic ship was abandoned above Kaon, yes?” She nodded in confirmation. He continued, “But no fight had taken place, and the Kaonese government had no knowledge of it. Curious…” he trailed off.

“My lord, might I ask a question?” Captain Gelenaana asked.

“Speak freely, Captain,” Beryllius responded without looking as her.

“Padawan,” she began, “Did you and your master at any point see this ship with your own eyes?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Perhaps some insight into the situation could be had by inspecting the vessel ourselves,” the Captain mused.

“Agreed,” the Sith chimed in, “I’ll have the Imperial task force’s commanding officer arrange a ship for us.” Noticing that the Master was becoming more and more agitated by the situation, he turned to the older man and offered, “I’m sure we could arrange to have some Republic officers present on the ship to even things out, if it would make you feel better.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bakkar spoke for the first time in an hour, “I still won’t relish the idea of working with a Sith.”

Before Beryllius could respond, his holocom began to beckon him. He removed the small device from his robe, and accepted the transmission. He was visibly shocked by whose holographic image stood before him.

-

Zattro awoke several hours later in a daze. He quickly remembered what had happened, and looked to his left bracer. On it, an arrow pointing northwest blinked repeatedly. With a slight groan, he rose and began to walk in the direction the arrow pointed. Eventually, he came to a small house. Peering inside the window, he saw two men. One, a Rodian, appeared to be comatose on a small bed. The other, a very well built man who appeared to be in his early forties frantically scrolled through a datapad. 

As always, Zattro Zarkos had his man. He pulled out his holocom, and called Sari’ala. He was elated by this find. Not only would he be helping a friend, he would be making an impression. The Black Sun offered some damn good bounties, and hearing that he played a role Mehllev’s capture would certainly put the Chiss hunter far higher on their list of potential associates. 

The connection went through. He was about to speak, when he stopped. There was another woman in the frame. Sari’ala didn’t have other friends, did she?

-

It was all the Observer could do not to smash a mug against the wall. The Observer was getting very tired of having to change the plan, and this was a big change. After the alarm went off on the datapad alerting the Observer that the Holodisc had been accessed, the situation became dire. Drastic measures needed to be taken; people had to die.


	8. VIII

“The what?” the agitated bounty hunter asked. Sari’ala had never heard of the so called “Children of Eternal Peace.”

“The Children of Eternal Peace,” Ziima repeated. “It’s a secret society.”

“I’ve never even heard the name,” she replied, bewilderment replacing her earlier rage.

Ziima sighed, “Get comfortable, this’ll take a while to explain.”

Sari’ala sat down on a couch in the ship’s hold. She beckoned for the other woman to sit next to her. Ziima sat down cautiously, took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself, and began. “The Children of Eternal Peace are galaxy wide secret society. Don’t bother asking me what their goal is; they’d never tell someone like me. I’m not sure how many actual members there are, but I know that they have hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of ‘agents.’”

“’Agents?’” Sari’ala asked.

“It’s their word for people who they force to work for them. Agents are like slaves, only without the shock collars. They target anyone, and I mean anyone, who has a secret. If there’s something from your past that could get you into any sort of trouble, you can be absolutely sure they’ll pay you a visit. I don’t know how they get the proof, but believe me, they have it. The thing is, you can’t satisfy them; they’ll never let you go.” 

Her eyes began to water again. Sari’ala, in what was perhaps the very first “nice” gesture she had ever made, removed her gauntlets and wiped the tears away from Ziima’s eyes. This earned her a heartfelt “thank you,” and a pitiful smile. Sari’ala thought she might start crying herself. Was this what people called “empathy?” What a drag.

The Mirialan continued, “Rather than asking for money like normal blackmailers, they will make you do their bidding. If you say no, you die. If you fail, you die. That has been my life for the last four years.” Sari’ala felt her rage return, only this time it wasn’t a general anger at the galaxy, but a focused anger. She wanted to make these people pay.

“I get orders from all sorts of sources, and then I report back to my handler.”

“Your handler?” the Twi’lek asked in hopes of clarification.

“Yeah. I don’t know who he or she is. The only name they’ve ever given me is ‘O’. They are why we met. They…Sari, I’m so sorry,” her tears returned with a vengeance. This time, there was nothing unnatural about Sari’ala’s response. Before she could think twice, she put her hand under Ziima’s chin and tilted the girl’s head upwards so their eyes met. Without thinking, she kissed the other woman. Startled at first, Ziima relaxed and returned her embrace with an equal amount of passion.

After several minutes, the two broke apart. Sari’ala grabbed Ziima’s shoulders and broke the momentary silence. “Ziima, listen to me: whatever they made you do to me, I forgive you.” This was the most sincere sentence to ever escape the Twi’lek’s mouth. Ziima looked into her eyes, and melted into her arms. Sari’ala slowly rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

After a few more minutes of silence, Ziima, with her head buried in Sari’ala’s chest, spoke once more, “They told me where you would be. They told me to hit on you. They told me to take you to bed. They told me to keep you away from Mehllev for as long as possible.”

Sari’ala was hurt, and Ziima knew it. She quickly continued, not giving the other woman a chance to speak. “I regret making you lose your bounty. I regret putting you in harm’s way. But talking to you, laughing with you, making love to you: I don’t regret any of those decisions, and I would make every one of them again and again.”

Sari’ala thought back to that night. It was the first time in her life she had felt a genuine connection to another person. It was the first time she could truly, honestly say she felt true happiness. No bounty was worth giving that up. Then, in what shocked her to be an entirely truthful statement, she looked into Ziima’s eyes and said, “Maybe you do, but I don’t regret anything you did that night.”

Ziima knew at that moment, her heart was no longer her property. No, her heart in its entirety belonged to Sari’ala. They embraced again, with even greater fervor than the last time

-

Several hours later, the new lovers snuggled peacefully in Sari’ala’s bed, the blanket being all that kept them from being completely exposed. Sure it was so small that the bounty hunter alone could barely fit in it, but they didn’t care. They were content.

Eventually, Sari’ala spoke up. “Ziima?”

“Yeah, Sari?”

“What can I do to fix this?”

Ziima sighed, “I honestly don’t know.”

A few silent minutes passed before a sound began to erupt from Sari’ala’s holocom. Pulling the covers over their chests so as not to give a free peep show to whomever the caller may be, she answered, “Yeah?” a hint of annoyance evident in her tone.

The figure almost spoke, but paused for a moment before uttering an overtly cheesy, “Well hello, ladies.” This resulted in a giggle from Ziima.

Sari’ala was far less amused. “Zattro, this better be real kriffing important, because I’m kind of in the middle of something!”

“So I see,” he chuckled.

Her cheeks began turning red with rage. “Zattro Zarkos, you have exactly five seconds to explain why you’re interrupting us before you become the next sorry sack of bantha shit to find out exactly what it feels like to burnt alive!”

Feigning fear, he chuckled,” Woah, easy their Sari’ala. I think I’d prefer to leave that particular experience up to my imagination. Believe me, when you hear what I have to tell you, you’ll be quite happy that I crashed the party.”

“Talk,” was her monosyllabic response.

“Well,” he began, “I was just strolling around Nal Hutta, and you will never guess who I ran into.”

-

Darth Sereniel was beginning to lose her patience with her apprentice. He’d been gone for hours, and he had yet to check in. “Insolent fool,” she thought to herself, “How dare he disobey me. No matter; he will regret it. The next time I see him, I swear I-“

Her thought was interrupted by a notification from her datapad. A message had come through. She read the single sentence on the screen; her face went whiter than Hoth during a blizzard. The message read, “Compromised, return to base immediately.”

-

“You said he accessed the disc?” Sari’ala asked, her heart pounding with a potent mixture of excitement, rage, and adoration for the woman next to her.

“Yeah, so whoever it is that wants the slime ball so bad is probably on their way to get him as we speak. You better hurry,” Zattro said. Sari’ala didn’t move.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get the little shit!” exclaimed Ziima, excitedly. She was anxious to mend the damage she had done.

Somberly, Sari’ala responded, “If they’re there, they’ll surely take you too, and I don’t think me and Zattro combined can stop this kind of organization.”

“Well, I may be able to call in just a little bit of help. Maybe.”

“Who ya gonna call?” the holographic Chiss asked.

Ziima sighed. “My brother.”

-

It had been three years since Ziima had spoken to her brother. They had been quite close in their youth, but as they grew up, they also grew apart. Her brother had a job with the government, while she was not offered the same support. She, along with her brother’s girlfriend Reylie, attended the Naval Academy and trained as pilots, but she dropped out after deciding taking orders wasn’t her style.

Her true conflict with her brother however, was one he was actually unaware of. It was, coincidentally, the very reason the Children of Eternal Peace had Ziima in a strangle hold. Unlike her twin brother who was fascinated by galactic politics, she couldn’t care less. After taking up smuggling, she would take jobs from anybody as long as the money was good.

Then, things changed. She had met a contact on Balmorra who tipped her off about a high risk, high reward job for an anonymous customer. When she heard how much was being offered, she took the job without hesitation. It involved smuggling some weapons onto an outer rim Imperial world for that planet’s resistance. What the smuggler had no way of knowing, was that she had just accepted a job straight from the top of SIS’s chain of command.

It had all gone smoothly thus far. She had made the drop, and was about to leave the system, when a squadron of three Imperial fighters intercepted her. They commanded her to land, but she paid no attention. They began to fire, and she took evasive action.

After successfully getting the fighters to split up, she found herself tailing the squad leader. Without a second thought, she fired. One shot, one kill. She smugly tuned into the fighters’ frequency. What she heard made her blood run cold.

“-ot her. That motherkriffer killed Reylie! You kriffing son of a Hu-”

Ziima switched off the radio, and silently made the jump to hyperspace. What she did not know, was that the third pilot reported to more than just the Imperial Navy. The third pilot was an agent; an agent of the Children of Eternal Peace.” Less than a day later, they contacted Ziima with a recording of the incident. She was theirs.

Now, here she stood; after three years of silence, she stared at the image of her brother on her holocom. His face bore a shocked expression. He didn’t even know she was alive. Slowly, he asked, “…Ziima? Is that you?”

Her response was slow and somber. “Hello, Beryllius.”

-

For what seemed like the thousandth time the week, Mehllev woke up in a great deal of pain. He slowly scanned his surroundings. He wasn’t in a cage; small though it may have been, it was an improvement. Turning his head, he saw the bouncer reading a datapad. This didn’t bother him, until he saw what was attached to it: the holodisc. Mehllev could have vomited right then and there.

Mehllev searched the room for a weapon. Much to his dismay, there were no blasters nor blades in his line of sight. Realizing that he would have to improvise, he searched the room once more, this time for a heavy blunt object to use as a makeshift melee weapon. His eyes eventually fell upon what appeared to be an old stone tome in a desperate state of disrepair. Perfect. 

Slowly, taking care not to make a sound that could attract the bouncer’s attention, he crept towards the artifact. Lifting it, Mehllev found the object to be far heavier than he had expected. “[No matter,]” he thought, “[That’s just all the more damage I can do with it.]”

Mehllev silently crept up behind the seated enforcer. Curious, he decided to look over the man’s shoulder and see which part of the document he had accessed. Ruugo was currently looking through a list of agents planted within the highest echelons of the Hutt Cartel. “[Figures,]” thought Mehllev, “[The brute probably has no concept of the galaxy outside his own life.]” 

As the Rodian raised the object to strike the human, the latter caught sight of the former in a reflection on his datapad. He reacted with reflexes that betrayed his rough life of fighting. In one swift motion, Ruugo rolled out of his chair and produced a blaster pistol - comically small in comparison to its wielder - and placed a well-aimed shot into the Mehllev’s elbow. The Rodian released his grip on the tome, which proceeded to land on the bridge of his foot.

Ruugo was familiar enough with the Rodian language to communicate to those who could not speak Basic, but the increasingly crippled man before him was uttering phrases he could not even begin to comprehend. From the Rodian’s repeated use of a word that sounded very similar to “kriff,” the bouncer deduced that his opponent was simply using some of his language’s most extreme expletives.

As he was about to address Mehllev, Ruugo became distracted by a loud explosion near his front door. Though originally locked, the disabled door now slid open. The entrance’s assailant had one blaster pistol trained on Mehllev, and the other on Ruugo.

-

Beryllius was overjoyed at the site of his long-lost sister. “Are you alright? What’s going on? Where are you?” His barrage of questions, save the final one, would go unanswered. His sibling responded with a short, but very clear message.

“Bery,” she stated, using her twin’s childhood nickname, “You need to get to Nal Hutta right now. The Rodian is still alive, and he and the holodisc are being held in a private residence. We need to get there before they do.”

“Who?” he asked.

“It’s a long story,” she dismissed, “Just get going.”

With that, the call ended. Beryllius looked to the Jedi said, “Well, a deal is a deal. I’ve got the location, so you best follow me if you want answers.”

Larana sprang up and began to follow the Sith, who was already out the door and on his way to the Empire’s main base. Bakkar followed closely behind. A ship would be waiting for them, as well as Beryllius’s security detail at the base. He wished to waste no time in getting to Nal Hutta.

-

The Observer quietly began the journey to the end of this wretched game. Anxious to end the diversion, the Observer had reluctantly amended the plan once more. Those who sought to disrupt the flow of the organizations actions were going to pay. The trap was set, now all that was left to do was wait for the unsuspecting victims to spring it.


End file.
